


growing pains

by swimthewholeriogrande



Series: whump-shots of the umbrella academy [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Physical Abuse, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 10:46:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimthewholeriogrande/pseuds/swimthewholeriogrande
Summary: How Klaus really broke his jaw.





	growing pains

The thing is, Dad has thought - assumed - that Klaus has been doing this for years. But really it's his first time.

And he feels so _pretty_ , Klaus muses, doing a slow spin in front of his mirror; the skirt floats and shines in the low light, loose and barely hanging on his skinny hips. He feels so pretty. Why has he never done this before?

He stumbles a little on Mom's heels, his toes scrunched to fit, and has to press his hand to the glass to steady himself. When he takes his fingers away, there is a handprint, and there is Dad's face behind him, enraged. 

Ah. That's why, he remembers distantly. 

Klaus doesn't even have to time to try and explain - excuse - himself before Reginald's cold, spitting voice rises in his ears. "You utter disgrace," the old man snarls, grabbing Klaus' shoulders so he can't turn away from his own reflection, "making a mockery of everything I've taught you, everything I've given you, Number Four, how dare you parade around like this -"

Klaus can barely hear him anymore. He can hear his own breathing coming in short, sharp pants, and a dull buzzing in his ears, and he can smell his own sweat - the acrid scent of fear - and God, he's so _stupid_. He doesn't _get_ pretty things, he doesn't get _anything_ , he gets ghosts and he gets Luther kicking the shit out of him in training and he gets his father's fingers digging into his shoulders so hard he knows they'll bruise.

"Dad," he interrupts his father's tirade, his voice stupid and small and weak, "Dad, I just thought -"

"Thought what?" His father meets his eyes in the mirror and Klaus feels like a rabbit in a snare. "Thought you could steal your mother's clothes and walk around this house, _my house_ , like some sort of crossdresser on the street?"

Klaus sees disappointment that must stretch over the old man's whole life in Reginald's eyes; a bitterness and dissatisfaction that Klaus associates with the smell of cigars and cold air in his father's office. It makes him shiver. It makes him pray he won't end up like that.

It doesn't surprise him, then, when all that boils over and Reginald grabs his hair and throws him face first into the mirror.

Klaus feels the slick slide of his teeth over his tongue first, cutting it clean, and then the give of his nose and - worse and worse and worse - his jaw cracks with a sickening sound. The pain explodes in his head like a firework and he stumbles drunkenly backwards, letting out a wild groan. Reginald sidesteps, doesn't catch him, lets Klaus fall through the open door of the room.

His vision is blurry; he blinks and sees the staircase climbing into space beside him. Reginald is an endlessly tall shadow.

"Oh dear, Number Four." His voice is so cruel, and so far away. "Have you fallen?"

Klaus can feel himself slipping away. He blinks again and this time he doesn't open his eyes, just stares at the red-black dark. 

"Shouldn't run in those heels," Reginald hisses, and then from somewhere close Diego screams, " _Klaus!_ " and Klaus goes to sleep.

He aches, everywhere. All the time. 


End file.
